


Christmas Plans

by essequamvideri24



Category: The White Princess (TV), The White Queen (TV)
Genre: flatmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 13:19:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12109569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essequamvideri24/pseuds/essequamvideri24
Summary: Someone asked me to write a one-off with Richard III and Anne Neville in the Flatmates universe, as I had introduced them in the context of that fic.  So here you go!





	Christmas Plans

He’d hardly noticed, so deep in thought was he, until Anne hollered from the lounge “Are you going to get that?” 

The kettle on the hob before him was screaming and puffing up little bursts of angry steam. He felt rather the same way. Ever since he’d hung up the phone, slamming it back into its cradle on the kitchen wall beside the refrigerator, fairly tangled in the coiled cord, he’d been positively boiling with ire.

He didn’t like Anne to see him like this, he thought as he poured the steaming hot water into the waiting mugs, tea bags bobbing to the top as they seeped mists of deep brown and hazy ochre. However, he didn’t have much of a choice. Richard wasn’t exactly known for his subtlety.

He blamed that on his parents as well. Mostly his mother really. Let’s not open that can of worms, he thought to himself as he took up a mug in each hand.

Anne was resting languidly in an arm chair, stretched out cat-like, having dared to partially open the shutters in the bay window, just enough to let in some weak winter sunlight, even thought it was literally freezing outside. “How did that go?” Heavily ringed fingers tucked the strands of her dirty blond bob behind one ear, but it was too short and slipped out of place in a few moments.

That was what he loved about Anne, she was such a paradox. A sensible, utilitarian bob cut, and a cluttering of rings on her fingers. A fun loving disposition, and a pragmatic outlook. A tacky new wealth family, and a demure reputation. She was unpredictable but familiar.

Richard cleared his throat, “Not well,” he pronounced. “Mum’s said she doesn’t want me going round yours for the holidays, and neither does she think you should come visit our family.” He handed off her mug to her as he sank onto the adjacent sofa and massaged his dark brow with one hand.

“You told her about daddy’s party, didn’t you?” Anne’s lip twitched to a frown. Mr. Neville was known to throw incredible Christmas parties in his London townhouse which were neither polite nor posh. He wasn’t above making business deals on Christmas Eve after he’d flushed his guests with alcohol. Nor was he above using his two daughters to butter up the older gentlemen in attendance. She rather hated the parties herself, and though Richard would be a dear consolation that year, if she couldn’t get away to his, that was.

“No, I didn’t tell her. She probably already knows by now though, damn gossip that she is.” He sat back a bit, “No, she said I was need at Fotheringhay. ‘Needed’, what in the blasted hell is that supposed to mean?” He gestured widely and peered up at the ceiling, as if God alone could answer.

“Richard.” Anne cocked an eyebrow at him, she always did when he got carried away, as he did from time to time. He was a forthright person, who wasn’t used to burying his thoughts. Much of his childhood had been spent in the shadow of his tall, golden haired, affable older siblings. He had been the baby, the runt more like. All dark hair, and green eyes of unfathomable depths, a childhood disability had ensured his perfectionist mother never bonded with him properly. And when father had died, Richard had really been alone. There was no one to hear his thoughts, and so he’d developed little aptitude for masking them.

“In any case,” he sulked, “I am to be at Fotheringhay on Christmas Day, that much was made clear.”

“Only Christmas Day?” There was mischievous twinkle in her eye, over the rim of her tilted mug as she took a sip. “Why, that gives us the rest of the break to escape our families. Know anywhere good to holiday this time of year?”

Sudden inspiration hit him, and he sat forward eagerly. “How does the seaside sound?”

“Somewhere warm?” Her eyes sparkled, and Richard was sorry to disappoint.

“Not too much warmer. My family has a place in the south, Corfe Manor. I’m sure I can get the keys off Ed, he’s always nipping down there on the weekends to escape the city.” His eyes were far off now, he was mapping it all out in his head. “Of course, I’ll need to be at Fotheringhay on Christmas and you’ll have to be in London, but the rest of the time we can spend at Corfe.”

Anne reached forward and brushed a dark curl from his forehead, “It is quite quiet there?”

“The quietest, and it’s only near a sleepy old village, and there’s a little road we can take to drive out to the seaside.”

“That sounds quite romantic.”

“And no one may be upset that we didn’t spend the break with them, they’ll have only themselves to blame.” Richard took her small, slim hand in his.

Anne worried at her lower lip with her teeth for a moment, a bad old habit, “Do you think they’ll ever accept us… together?” She queried into the dregs of her tea.

His thumb stroked the top her hand as Richard shook his head and smiled, “I don’t give a damn if they do.”


End file.
